Jorōgumo
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Black Widow was more than just Natasha's code name. Unfortunately, Burkhardt had already seen that; she wasn't going to get away with playing mostly harmless demoiselle.
1. Jorōgumo

**Title**: Jorōgumo

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: K+

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _Black Widow was more than just Natasha's code name. Unfortunately, Burkhardt had already seen that; she wasn't going to get away with playing mostly harmless demoiselle._ 1300 words.

**Spoilers**: Indeterminate season of POI; post-movie for Sorcerer's Apprentice

**Notes**: Originally posted elsewhere April 22, 2014. For pprfaith, for Day 9 in Wishlist 2013, for the prompt "Black Widow isn't just a codename. Natasha is a Wesen." Title is from the Japanese myth about the spider woman used as the basis for the Tarantella episode of Grimm, from which this story draws heavily. And "Kehrseite" is Grimm-verse for "human".

* * *

"Okay. Now I know what you are- and you know what I am," Detective Nick Burkhardt growled, slamming the door of the PPD interrogation room behind them. "So who are you, really? And why are you here?"

Natasha Romanov had known long before she set foot in Portland that the wesen power structure in the area had shifted over the last few years. It would have been difficult not to, given just how many wesen were employed by SHIELD; between the unexpected visits by various European Royals, the resulting intensification of the guerilla war between the Royal-supporting Verrat and the rebel Laufer, the increase in attention from the Wesen Council, and rumors of either a kindlier or deadlier new Grimm all centering on the same city, SHIELD's eye had been drawn to Oregon's most populated metro area long before one of the Black Widow's missions had taken her there.

What she _hadn't_ expected- what hadn't been recorded in SHIELD's files, and _should_ have been- was that the Grimm in question had a badge of his own. Natasha was going to have _words_ with her handler about that in her debrief. Portland's rogue Royal had clearly learned cutthroat politics at his mother's knee, if not his father's; when SHIELD had spoken with him years before to discern the scope of the new fiefdom he planned to establish and whether interference would be warranted, he'd obviously written loopholes into the treaty big enough to smuggle a ring of Löwen through, never mind one improbably doe-eyed, handsome Grimm.

"I told you," Natasha said calmly, nodding to the SHIELD badge the dark-haired young man had thrown on the table between them. "I'm an agent of SHIELD. I'm here to speak with Captain Renard about a matter of national security."

Burkhardt already _seen_ her; she wasn't going to get away with playing mostly harmless demoiselle. No amount of wide-eyed protest or cleavage on display was going to stop him from pulling his sidearm if she made an unexpected move. She could still get out without a problem if she had to, possibly over his dead body if he insisted; but she didn't know enough about his capabilities to be sure, and Fury would not be pleased if she burned down SHIELD's welcome in the city in the process.

The lines between Burkhardt's brows grew deeper as he assessed that answer. He braced his hands against the back of the chair across the table from her, and flexed his fingers as if distracting himself from a desire to strike at her. That seemed unusually restrained for a Grimm; unlike most wesen, Natasha could actually make that comparison, having met one before.

Perhaps those 'kindlier' rumors had some basis in fact? Then again... the fact that he had instantly recognized what she was, and still breathed, said something for the 'deadlier' rumors as well.

"And would he be able to corroborate your story?" he asked, skeptically.

"That SHIELD has an interest in your case? Certainly," Natasha replied, hands clasped unthreateningly in front of her. "But if you're asking whether or not he'll recognize me? Sorry, this is my first visit to your city. And so far... I'm not impressed."

Burkhardt didn't react to the deprecatory comment, but he didn't relax, either. "Neither am I," he said, an unamused curl at one corner of his mouth. "I know it's not polite to ask a lady her age, but I'm afraid in _your_ case I'm going to have to insist."

He _did_ know what she was, then. More than the last Grimm had, at least. Natasha echoed his bleak smile and tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Old enough to know that you're asking the wrong question."

"Yeah? And what question would that be?" he fired back.

So far, neither had said anything that might alarm more than puzzle a Kehrseite on the other side of the mirror, or expose the community if they were being recorded; Natasha chose her next words carefully.

"You've met a woman in my... situation before."

Burkhardt's eyes narrowed further. "Two, actually," he said, shoving away from the chair to cross his arms over his chest. "One who'd left quite the trail behind her. And one who... hadn't."

The words were heavy with meaning. Natasha's smile compressed into a thin line as she struggled not to woge in reaction.

"How old?" she asked, flatly.

He didn't bother to pretend he didn't understand what she was asking. "Twenty-six," he replied. "But..."

"She looked more like seventy," Natasha finished for him. Once a female spinnetod entered puberty, her instinctive drives grew stronger and stronger; sex became associated with drawing energy to reverse the aging disorder endemic to their kind, and thus with the consumption of sexual partners. It became _necessary_ to kill at least three men every five years if she wanted to survive. More, if she wanted to stay young and useful indefinitely.

_Love is for children_: she'd learned that lesson early, and learned it well.

Most spinnetode gave into their natures eventually, becoming the infamous 'black widows' of the wesen world; many became monsters, or weapons. Natasha's own story wasn't pretty, but it was far from the worst she'd heard; at least she'd found purpose in it. A few unfortunates, usually raised apart from other wesen, ended up hating themselves enough to commit passive suicide. Burkhardt's new friend _might_ make it another five years before her self-denial killed her.

But Natasha wasn't there to intervene. She had a mission to complete- preferably without adding any more unearned red to her ledger.

"Perhaps you can appreciate the fact that I've chosen a career that allows me to walk a path between those two extremes," she said, gesturing toward her badge again. "Much like _your_ career, if I'm not mistaken."

His first reaction to that was easy to read: rejection and disgust, along the lines of _but I don't eat the people I kill._ But the second was, more promisingly, a grimace of acknowledgement: _But I do kill, and being a cop makes the hunt easier; you're right about that._

Burkhardt swallowed and said neither of those things, glancing toward the mirror. "Your superiors know?"

"Do yours?" Natasha riposted coolly. It was a rhetorical question; and she knew he knew it.

He blew out a breath, staring down at the floor for a moment in thought. "Is _that_ the question I should be asking?" he asked, equally rhetorically.

She inclined her head, and Burkhardt grunted, tossing her badge back to her with a flourish. "I won't pretend to approve," he concluded irritably. "Just keep your... _trail_... out of my city."

"It's cute that you think you could stop me," she replied. "But your interference- and your judgment- won't be necessary."

"You know, if there's an actual government agency involved in all this," he scoffed, "why don't they print up some pamphlets? Might have made this little meeting go a lot smoother."

The corner of Natasha's mouth twitched as she envisioned repeating that comment to Fury. "I'll certainly pass that observation to my superiors."

"Just when I think I've got a handle on all this, I get a look at just how much further down the rabbit hole there is to go," he shook his head. "I'll just... escort you to the Captain then, shall I?"

Had Burkhardt been raised apart from his own traditions? That would explain a few things. Clearly, SHIELD had been keeping their noses out of Portland's business too scrupulously. Perhaps it was time Natasha paid a visit to Coulson's cellist and asked a few pointed questions.

"Just take care not to end up _as_ the cake, and you should land on your feet eventually," she said, lightly.

He finally cracked something resembling an actual smile as he gestured her back into the hall.

-x-


	2. The Princess Is In Another Castle

**Title**: The Princess Is In Another Castle

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _Never in her life had Natasha ever expected to be responsible for broadening a Grimm's horizons. But this wasn't the time to gloat; she still had work to do._ 1900w.

**Spoilers**: Grimm Season 3; post-Captain America 2

**Notes**: For thady, for the prompt: "Grimm/MCU, Clint + Natasha. A sequel/continuation to 'Jorōgumo' dealing with the aftermath of CA: The Winter Soldier." It just so happened that Grimm 3.17 "Synchronicity" aired the same day Cap 2 opened; I thought that made for an interesting convergence of events! Originally posted elsewhere 11/24/2015.

* * *

Three days after Natasha publicly eviscerated SHIELD to expose the cancer that was Hydra, the burner phone she'd kept with her every second since finally rang.

She'd been so _sure_ when she'd uploaded the contents of SHIELD's database to the Internet that nothing in the system would expose any of her teammates. Steve was right there with her, Coulson was... gone, Stark had undoubtedly stripped anything that might threaten him or Banner out of the files years ago, Thor was a _god_, and Clint's farm house had never been recorded anywhere in the system for just such a contingency. Not that they'd been expecting Hydra, exactly; but they hadn't become who they were by trusting bureaucracy, and even Fury could be overruled. But for three days, she'd heard from everyone _but_ Clint.

Fury had sworn that Clint had been on an off-the-books op in Europe, one that wasn't in the files, and so would have been out of immediate danger. But off-the-books in that context usually meant wesen-related, and in the aftermath of the events in DC, that wasn't exactly a comfort. If Hydra had infiltrated SHIELD so deeply, it was likely that the organization was embedded in both the Verrat and the Laufer as well, given that Hydra historically also employed wesen. And if either group had caught Clint in their territory... as a raubkondor even more skilled at hunting than the norm for his notoriously dangerous species, employed by a third party who had no interest in seeing either faction win, he hadn't exactly made friends on either side of that shadow civil war.

She hesitated only a second, bracing herself for the possibility that someone other than Clint was on the other end of the line, and swept her thumb across the screen to answer. "Yes?"

"Nat?" Clint's welcome voice sounded in her ear, and Natasha briefly closed her eyes, allowing herself a breath of relief.

"You're _late_," she growled. "You were supposed to call in days ago. Are you safe?"

"What do you think?" he chuckled roughly- then coughed and made a pained noise.

"Clint?" she said sharply, hand tightening on the case of her phone.

"Ow, no, calm down. I'm okay. Just a little bruised and chilled; and I probably shouldn't stay in one place too long. Hundjäger don't make the greatest hosts in the world, even when they're _not_ spouting Hydra slogans. Which, what the _hell_, Nat. Give a guy some warning, would you." His tone was at least as much offended as it was hurt.

She winced. "You know I would have if I could have. But you weren't here, and I didn't have time to track you- and Fury swore your op wasn't in the files."

He snorted. "It wasn't; I think it was more an accident they found out who I was, not bad intel. I was tracking the rumors about the King's new grandchild, and stumbled into a faceoff between the Verrat and some new Laufer agent. I went up a tree to wait, and the Verrat had a steinadler with them when they came to pick up their dead. They have a new leader again, by the way; I'm pretty sure the last one's been permanently retired."

"Not a forgiving bunch, the Royals," Natasha replied, dryly. "So you're still in Europe?"

"Nah; I played cargo, caught a ride back over the ocean. But Stark Tower's locked up and under a shitstorm of surveillance, and I can't be sure I don't have eyes on me. I can't risk bringing this back to the farm. I've got other boltholes, but most of those _were_ in SHIELD's files. You got any recommendations?"

Most of Natasha's boltholes had gone the same way as his, along with all of her established aliases. And she couldn't be sure she didn't have eyes on her either, given her role in the upcoming Senate hearings. Bringing him to DC was out of the question. So where did that leave?

She chewed over the question for a minute- then blinked as an absolutely terrible idea popped into her mind. She did, in fact, know one place in America where peace between Kehrseite and wesen was competently enforced, usually to the detriment of any interloping Royals or Verrat. She'd faced a pretty chilly welcome there herself until she'd sworn not to take any prey in the city. And they happened to have another contact there as well; Coulson's cellist, who _also_ wasn't in any SHIELD file.

"Portland," she said, before she could think better of it.

"_Portland_?" Clint replied in disbelief, coughing again. "Didn't you say the place is ruled by a Prince now? One with a _Grimm_ on his payroll?"

"A bastard Prince nominally aligned with the Resistance. And a Grimm who doesn't kill indiscriminately. Neither one tolerates Verrat in their city; I can't imagine they'll be any more tolerant of Hydra. They should be able to provide you a place to go to ground until things clear."

He sighed. "All right. Better call and warn 'em; I'd hate to have to shoot anyone by mistake."

"Wear sunglasses and keep a sharp eye out. And don't worry; I'll call ahead. Can you make it that far?"

"In a jiff. Portland PD, right?"

"Right," she confirmed. "Be careful, Clint."

"You, too. I'm not the one facing the vultures on the hill. Between you and me, I'm not sure whose beaks are sharper."

"Oh, what webs we weave," Natasha chuckled in reply, then hung up. He'd contact her again when he got there- and meanwhile, she felt as though a huge weight had slipped from her shoulders.

Now to ask forgiveness rather than permission. She lowered the phone from her ear and tapped through her contacts, searching for the number she'd entered from a business card months before.

The phone rang once, then twice, then again; then it connected, and a cautious voice replied. "Burkhardt."

"Not to worry," she said by way of greeting, guessing that most calls a Grimm received from an Unknown Caller didn't tend to go well. "I still have no intention of leaving a trail in your city."

There was a pause on the other end; then another cautious reply. "I didn't expect to hear from you. Ever, actually. Shouldn't you be talking to my Captain?"

"Good ear," she said; though she wasn't actually surprised. As a hunter, the only being capable of outmatching most raubkondor was a Grimm, and no doubt he remembered their initial meeting as clearly as she did. "And under normal circumstances, I would. But I have a friend seeking asylum on his way to your city right now, and given the current climate, the less official notice, the better." Not that she expected Renard would be a threat to Clint; but with princes and police captains both came administrative staffs, and any one of them could be a leak. _He'd_ be better informed in person. But one surprised a Grimm in his territory at their own risk.

"You're kidding me," Burkhardt blurted, sounding more surprised than she'd expected. "_Another_ fugitive? Don't tell me, the Royals are after this one, too."

"They might be," Natasha replied guardedly. She hadn't heard of any recent incursions in Portland; but then, her intel streams had been a little restricted since she'd left for that mission to the _Lemurian Star_. Everything had happened too quickly after that to keep track of anything but the next steps in front of them. "Is that a problem?"

"Is that a problem," Burkhardt repeated with a dry, disbelieving chuckle. Then he sighed. "Look, I don't know how much of a refuge this place will be- we've got a lot of eyes on us right now. Prince Victor von Whats-his-name just flew out last night, we have two hundjäger in the morgue, and I know of at least one more still in the city. Wearing an FBI uniform, no less. Given how stirred up the feds are right now over what happened back east, I can't exactly just storm into his office and confront him."

That _was_ an interesting tidbit. "_Victor_ was in Portland?" With the hunt for the Royal child still going on in Europe?

...Or had it shifted a little closer to home? "Did he get them?" she added.

"Get who?" Burkhardt replied, sounding baffled.

"_Your_ fugitive." Natasha rolled her eyes at the phone.

"Oh... uh." Okay; maybe not a _complete_ idiot, just stalling to come up with an answer. "No. They're... somewhere safe. With someone I trust," he admitted, in a low voice.

"Then that's who Victor will be looking for, not _my_ fugitive." She resisted the urge to ask if that fugitive was a certain infant, with or without its mother. Clint would find out. "And clearly, you can defend your city. All Barton needs is a place to go to ground for a little while. A few days, maybe, until he's sure he's no longer at risk."

Burkhardt considered that; she heard faint brushing noises over the connection, like a hand whisking through disheveled hair. "I assume he's wesen, too?"

Under any other circumstances, Natasha would have hesitated to answer; asking a wesen third party about someone else's species was like asking a Kehrseite to hand over a naked picture of a friend. But it wasn't like Burkhardt wouldn't find out shortly after Clint arrived; he'd end up woging in front of the Grimm sooner or later. Best not to risk him being caught off guard by Burkhardt's reaction.

"Yes," she replied, in clipped tones. "He's a raubkondor. That's..."

"The hunting species?" Burkhardt cut her off, exasperation roughening his voice. "Of _course_ he is. Just... tell him he'd better keep _his_ hunting out of the city, too."

For a Grimm who didn't seem to know much about his ancestors' traditions, he'd certainly met an exotic range of wesen in his few short active years. Good thing she _had_ brought it up; it didn't sound as though his first meeting with a raubkondor had had any happier an ending than his previous acquaintance with spinnetode.

"As long as you're willing to make an exception for Verrat, I don't think that'll be a problem," she replied.

He considered that a moment longer, then finally caved, tone thick with sarcasm. "All right, then. What's one more thing on my plate? A grieving hexenbiest after my friends, hundjäger FBI agents in my city, getting tapped to play best man at the wedding of a fuchsbau and a Weider blutbad- helping another fugitive ought to be a piece of cake by comparison."

"Try taking down an international intelligence organization and helping crash three helicarriers into the Potomac," she replied, dryly. He'd picked the wrong person to complain to. "It hasn't been that great a week on this end, either."

That caught his attention. "Wait- the redhead on the news! That was _you_?"

A wry smile curled the corner of her mouth. "Pleasure doing business with you, Detective Burkhardt," she replied lightly, and hung up.

Never in her life had Natasha ever expected to be responsible for broadening a Grimm's horizons. But this wasn't the time to gloat; she still had work to do.

She dialed another number from memory, then put the phone back to her ear. One more call, and then she'd check in with Steve again- or Sam, who'd be more likely to answer- and pass on the news.

-x-


End file.
